Waking the next morning Chase turned and saw his phone glowing on the nightstand with unwanted opinions. Except for one.
Three messages from Vincenzo:
11:58 PM: After-thing went nuclear. Followers lapping up the idea. Brunch?
12:31 AM: Got a spot for you while I find your place in my bigger announcement. Office first, then opportunity. Wear a face the camera likes.
7:12 AM: Lunch at my office. Short. (Long.)
One from Amelia:
Made it home. Thanks for the walk. Don’t accept any “gifts.” ☺ P.S. Two years is a lot of time to catch up on.
Chase winced at the screen. She wasn’t wrong. Orangeside Community College and the friends that defined his time there were in the rearview mirror of his life. Now, the guilt of years of radio silence sat heavy in his gut. The urge to type a confession, an apology, a reason why he was a coward.
Chase responded quickly:
Are bigger announcements gifts?
He immediately regretted the goofy question.
He typed: I’m sorry I ghosted. Deleted it. Pathetic.
Typed: I missed you. Deleted it. Too honest.
Typed: Coffee IOU this week? I’ll behave.
He stared at behave. It felt loaded. Like the library on late nights, the tension that used to hum between them before he ruined it with time and distance. It was too intimate for a man who hadn’t earned that ground back yet.
He swapped it for:
Coffee IOU this week? I promise to leave the ‘SilverTongue’ closing arguments at the office.
Send.
The reply came three dots at a time:
Wednesday.
You can tell me about this “BIGGER announcement.”
Then:
I want the Orangeside-Chase version, I don’t want to be ‘Silvertounged’.
He smiled despite himself, the ghost of their old banter settling in his chest. He scrubbed a hand over his jaw and let the day start.
Shower, suit, the blue tie that said approachable without begging. On his way out he paused. The smell of a past life loomed from the hall closet.
His battered duffel from his substitute teacher stint at the Harrison Home time. A retired soldier packed with old forms, a lanyard, a ballpoint with ‘infinite ink’ given to him by a brilliant little girl. Work that had looked noble on paper but complicated in execution.
He shut the door gently, not wanting to wake his dormant past.
Enough nostalgia.
Michael & Cole felt colder than usual. Marble, brass, glass – a building that judged you for scuffing it. The security guard nodded like they were co-conspirators in a polite crime.
At his desk, a stack of contracts waited with the patience of predators.
Mid-morning, his boss stuck a head in. “Quick query on the Aquarius Revitalization NDAs,” she said. “You’ll love how simple they are.”
He didn’t. The language was too clean, the indemnity too generous, like a hand extended just a hair too far.
A generosity that assumed obedience .
Noon would be worse.
He glanced at his phone: nothing from Amelia, two more from Vincenzo—location pin, a selfie in a ring light, the caption American Psycho but make it philanthropic.
Chase sighed, closed the NDA.
Mondays at the clinic were always a pileup.
A shepherd with a hotspot, a tabby who refused to acknowledge the concept of gravity, a kid crying because his turtle “didn’t have ‘ninja’ powers.”
Amelia moved through it with practiced calm—soft voice, quick hands, laughter where it helped, silence where it did more.
In the small breaks between chaos, her mind drifted.
Back to a percolator with mediocre coffee.
Back to a lamppost buzzing above.
Back to a man who used to turn college classes into side-quests of goofing off and now wore a suit like some corporate stooge.
Two years is enough to forget someone’s cadence; last night proved that concept was false.
“Ames,” Noah texted.
Disappeared after the reunion, making sure you’re not kidnapped, did ‘Silver’ and ‘Gold’ bug you too much?
She smirked.
Almost. Great seeing Chase again. He’s what I remember. Vincenzo is…like camping.
Vinny’s, more like a walking amusement park, came back.
She put the phone away when Mrs. Halvorsen arrived with her ancient corgi, Snickers.
The dog sighed at Amelia.
“We both need more sleep,” Amelia whispered to her, and Snickers agreed, with a triumphant fart.
***
At lunch she escaped to the back step with her sandwich, breathing in the cool shade. Her phone buzzed once.
Chase’s coffee IOU
With the follow-up he’d clearly overthought.
Then she replied immediately with; I want the Orangeside-Chase version, I don’t want to be ‘Silvertounged’.
Amelia’s cheeks went red as she re-read her reply.
“Jesus Christ,” She said to herself, remembering they were always this goofy together.
It felt natural, but space was smart. Space made sparks choose their targets.
She opened her notes app and typed two lines:
men like that don’t give / they trade
what do I do with a good man who thinks he owes me
She locked the screen before trying to figure out what those two add up to.
The office was half laboratory, half set. Glass walls, pale wood, a skyline that bragged for him.
One side housed actual work, his analysts staring into graphs like devout parishioners, a war room with a map of contracts pinned under color-coded string.
The other side was for theater. Ring lights, a velvet chair, a shelf of pristine books with the spines facing outward.
Vincenzo warmed up.
Mic check, camera focus, jaw looseners that made him look human.
He flicked the lighter-click, flame, snap-then tucked it away.
“Chat,” he rehearsed into the dead lens, voice lowered to that intimate register his followers paid for. “Question for the room: how far should I go for the boy who kept me grounded growing up? What’s the extent I could go to ensure he joins me in this rich and vibrant life?”
He smiled at his reflection in the monitor.
Perfect teeth.
Tori from ops hovered in the doorway. “Your nooner is here,” she said.“Send him in,” Vincenzo answered, already standing, reshaping his face to a familiar warmth.